


murphy’s law

by MANIAvinyl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, God they’re both just so fucking sad, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, other general issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 16:24:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15585903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MANIAvinyl/pseuds/MANIAvinyl
Summary: If anything can go wrong, it will.“The Chicago night air is sharp and cold and familiar. It feels like all those night when I was young, when I couldn’t sleep. It feels like the black days when I would walk around my childhood neighborhood with nothing but a walkman and a hunger for death.I tell Patrick this as we walk down the dark street. He only listens, and lets me talk, lets me say things that I would never say to rest of the world.”





	murphy’s law

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t even remember when I wrote this. I was reading through my old documents on pages and this came up, so I said fuck it and posted it. Hope u like it lol

I think I’m the living embodiment of Murphy’s Law.

It’s so late that I don’t even want to know the time. I just get guilty, and lonely. This has happened all before.

I call out to Patrick, knowing full well he’s fast asleep in the bed across from mine but doing it anyways. He stirs.

“Go to bed, Pete.” he murmurs. He’s annoyed, I know. 

I tell him I don’t feel good. I don’t tell him that I never seem to feel good these days.

“You sick?”

“Yeah.” I mumble. “Heartsick.”

I hear a quiet chuckle. Then a softer, “What’s up?”

I tell him I feel lost. I tell him I feel alone and that nobody is around to help me and I can feel him growing worried.

“C’mon, Pete.” he murmurs. “I’m here, the boys are here. You—what’re you on right now? Ativan? Zoloft?“

“Zoloft.”

“Yeah. Zoloft. Look, man, everyone’s on your side, we‘re all here for you.”

Frustration sparks in me. I’m not angry at him, or myself, for that matter, but at whatever’s inside my head that blinds me. I can’t see the love around me—I can’t feel it. I'm just numb

“Hey, shh. It’s okay.” Patrick says quickly. I shake my head and tell him that I’m fine, but he sees right through it. 

He asks if I want to go for a walk, to clear my mind. I nod and he sits on the edge of his bed, facing mine.

He whispers that it will all be okay, that he’s here for me. 

I nod and we slip our shoes on and creep down the hallway. Joe and Andy and the Disaster are all asleep, and they’re all heavy sleepers, but we stay quiet anyways.

The Chicago night air is sharp and cold and familiar. It feels like all those night when I was young, when I couldn’t sleep. It feels like the black days when I would walk around my childhood neighborhood with nothing but a walkman and a hunger for death. 

I tell Patrick this as we walk down the dark street. He only listens, and lets me talk, lets me say things that I would never say to rest of the world. 

“I tried to take my own life when I was fifteen. Have—have I ever told you?” I say softly. I watch as he stiffens.

“No.” he murmurs. I sigh. 

“I don’t even think my parents know this one.” 

“Before you start.” he says quickly, turning to me. “I just—I’m sorry. I’m sorry everything was so shitty for you, and, and, I’m sorry it still is.”

I tell him it’s okay, that I survived and I’ll keep surviving. He wipes his face and tries to play it off as sweat.

He says that I can tell him the story now. 

We’re turning the corner, the old church across the road dark and gloomy. The street lights make the neighborhood glow but instead of a comforting light it’s eerie and lonely. 

“I was fifteen.” I say quietly. “I—I don’t remember what happened. Shit at school. Shit at home. I guess I had nowhere to go.”

“Wish I knew you back then.”

“Wish I knew you, too.” I reply. I tell him how I stood on the roof of the CVS down the street from my house, the one with the tall roof. I tell him how I picked the lock to the stairwell and stood on the edge of the building, cursing at God or whoever’s up there, staring back at me, for making me like this. 

He says he’s sorry again, even though I tell him not to be. 

Then I tell him how I panicked, I cried my eyes out but couldn’t bring myself to step off that ledge. 

“I’m glad you didn’t.” he murmurs. “I think I need you.”

“I think I need you, too. You’re like, my little angel. Angel eyes.” I chuckle. He blushes. 

“You’re an idiot.” he huffs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“Yeah.”

“Let’s head down Lakeshore.” he suggests. I hate that damn road but I agree anyways. I’m drawn to what destroys me. 

There’s been too many times that I’ve driven down here, depressed out of my mind. It's Depression Drive. Perfect.

Our house is close enough that it’s only a half mile walk, and we talk about nothing in particular as we head towards Lake Michigan. It’s nice. It’s distraction. 

In fifteen minutes we’re at the shore. It’s liberating; it’s clear and fresh and quiet. It’s everything I am not and I think that’s why I love it so much. I tell him this as we stare into the open water, and he thinks for a moment. 

He’s leaning up against the railing, and the soft ginger hair that’s not under his hoodie waves in the slight lake breeze. There’s a gentle glow about this place, like the city’s alive but at the same time it isn’t, and the street lights are the remnants, the skeleton of Chicago. 

Suddenly I’m tired. I’m so tired, and lonely and scared and I am thinking Patrick is my battery city. 

He turns to me; he must’ve seen the sadness because he asks me if anything’s wrong. If I feel okay. I tell him I don’t.

I tell him that this place, this lake in the dead of night reminds me of how much I would rather die than be here, alive. It reminds me of my gray static childhood, my never ending search to just fit in, for once in my damn life. I tell him that it’s not okay, and it will probably never be okay. He only watches this breakdown; he’s too afraid to touch me, to calm me. So I am leaning against the cold railing, alone, staring across the water and trying to imagine what it would be like to be dead. 

“Shh. Pete, it’s okay.” he murmurs finally. “Listen to me.”

I turn to him. 

“I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never told anyone.” he says slowly, as if he were carefully planning his words like a game of chess. 

“Okay.” my voice is hoarse and quiet. I swing my legs over the bar so my feet dangle above the rocky drop-off. He does the same. 

“You know—you already know I str-struggled with self esteem.” he stutters glancing at me quickly. This is hard for him to talk about. I nod. 

“I think I was sixteen. Maybe seventeen, but before we met.” his voice shakes a little bit already. 

“There was a point in there, a while where I didn’t even think I’d make it to eighteen.” 

I stay still. I don’t want to unsettle him.

“And then you came along. With your big, stupid Pete Wentz Smile and backwards thinking and I think I fell in love. No! Not in that way. I fell in love with your soul.” he stutters, blushing. I nod, because I know what he means. I felt it too. 

We’re not in love romantically, it’s different. It’s not in the same category as friendship or relationship; it’s on a whole new plane of existence I can’t even comprehend. All I know is I was meant to be next to him, like we’re the last two people of our kind. We exist together in the next world and all the worlds that exist past it. I can feel it. I tell him this, that we were always meant to stand next to each other, and he smiles. 

“Yeah.” he whispers. “God could’ve chosen a world where we both didn’t want to die, though.”

“You—you’re okay now, though, right?” I ask nervously. I think I know the answer but I want to hear him say it.

“Yes, Pete. I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” he chuckles. “But—but about what I was saying. You-y-you saved me, man. I-I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t-didn’t show up one day, and, and make me want to be alive again.” he laughs a little, bit it sounds more like a sob with a smile attached. “It sounds stupid. I know.”

“It doesn’t.” I murmur. “Never knew that, though.”

“No one does.” he says. “Never told anyone.” 

We fall into an easy silence. I’m not tired in the least. 

“I think I’m living proof of Murphy’s law.” I say softly, after a while. He narrows his eyes but doesn’t look at me.

“Why?” 

“Look at me! I mean—everything’s gone wrong but I’m still fucking here, right?” I laugh quietly. 

“I guess.” he murmurs. “You were slipping long before I found you.” 

I look up, surprised. I don’t know what to say.

“That’s a yes. Look, Pete,” he sighs, “I don’t know how, but I promise, I promise that one day I’ll fuckin’ peel your eyes open if I have to, so you can see everyone that cares about you.” his voice shakes a little bit. “So you can feel the love.”

I smile. I might be crying. I can feel the lump in my throat already.

We fall into another easy silence. 

I look at him after a while. “You—“ I cut off, unsure. “You won’t be offended with what I’m gonna ask, yeah?”

“Sure, Pete.”

“You ever have those episodes again?” I try to read his face but it doesn’t give anything away. 

He frowns. “My turn. Will you be angry if I say yes?”

“Yeah, kind of. Come on! I—You’re a fucking hypocrite.” I mutter. He knows I’m not really angry at him. 

“I know, okay? It’s—it’s different, alright?” he sounds miserable. I frown.

“Why?”

He tilts his head back a little. “Cause I’m, I’m not like you, Pete. People... “ he trails off but I know what he was going to say. 

“People don’t expect it from you—was that it?” I say bitterly. I’m angry, but I’m also scared. That is a dangerous combination.

I’m afraid, truly, for one of the first times in my life; does everyone really expect me to break down at every turn? Every bump in the road? I’m the weak link; I’m the anchor. I’ll bring us all down, one day.

”No!” he exclaims, but he looks guilty. A piece of me is hungry to see that, his guilt, and I don’t care. I feed it.

“You did. You fucking did.” I challenge, voice low. He shakes his head.

“Pete, no, no. I—“

“You think I’m just the ‘fucked up one’, yeah? I’m nothing else.” I growl. 

“You know what? No. I’m not doing this. I’m not arguing w—“ 

Anger surges through me. Not all at him, not necessarily, but nonetheless I have to fuel it. It’s who I am.

I reach for his wrist and hold tight, my eyes burning into his. He’s scared but I live off of this. 

“Pete, stop.” he says firmly, after a moment. I slowly shake my head. 

"Say it." I demand. My voice is dangerously low, and shaking.

“No, Pete, I won’t.” he says, switching from scared to calm in an instant. He can see through me now, and his sudden surprised fear is gone. Only sympathy, and subtle guilt. “You won’t bring us down.”

The anger is fading fast and it’s begging replaced with a surging sadness and he can see it, too. He holds his arms open, turning sideways on the flat metal railing. “Let go.” he whispers, and I fall into his as sobs wrack my body. Everything is static, everything is gray and cold but he’s here, a warm presence against me and I bury myself further into him. I follow his heartbeat as if I somehow could crawl into the sound and live there forever.

I’m completely out of myself. I’m coming apart in his arms and I don’t care. I’m not even trying anymore. I’m terrified that what he said is true—that I am the weak link, I’m the one that’ll drag us down in the end. The person they’d take a bullet for is me, but I’m afraid that I’m the one behind the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> comment would be cool fam


End file.
